


18 Megahertz

by Oxygen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9232043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oxygen/pseuds/Oxygen
Summary: The song cuts abruptly for a message from the broadcaster; real old dude, voice deep and cracking from age. He tells them that the clocks have just hit 12.





	

Jamie keeps the hideout comfortably busy to the eye. Messy, but in a cozy, “home sweet home” kind of way. It’s especially pleasing during Christmas.

They’ve got some tires of varying sizes for a couch, with a soft leather skin slung over it as a makeshift blanket. Tables topped with gadgets and eskies full of lukewarm beer and salted lizard strips surround it in a circular formation. A radio sits in the center.

The couch is nested in the lowest part of the hut, with the ceiling hanging snugly over it, casting a constant shadow over the couch no matter the time of day. Makes for a good nap location.

During December, Jamie drapes some makeshift fairy lights from the ceiling over the couch. They cascade over the inset in the room like one of the bead curtains in the bars of Perth. When Jamie connects them to the portable generator, they cast a warm golden glow over the room.

Jamie always feels the need to explain why he's putting the lights up. Mako lets him ramble on about keeping the spirit of Christmas alive, and the importance of national holidays to the human psyche and whatnot.

In all honesty, Mako doesn't need a justification-- but he knows Jamie typically doesn’t like wasting resources, and the man needs a way of justifying it to himself.

On Christmas Eve, they tune the radio to one of the local Junker station. They’re playing Christmas hits from America and England, stuff from ancient movies and covers by musicians from another age. Some beer cans and shish kebab sticks litter the floor. They’re lying comfortably on their couch, looking at the night sky through the large, glass-less window on the other side of the hut.

Jamie’s on his back with the blanket haphazardly covering him. He’s fiddling with the fairy lights, delicately weaving them in between his fingers.

The song cuts abruptly for a message from the broadcaster; real old dude, voice deep and cracking from age. He tells them that the clocks have just hit 12. Jamie looks over at him with a lazy smile on his face, and laces his fingers with Mako’s own.

“Merry Christmas, ya big lug.”


End file.
